In A Jar
by Laser Lance 720
Summary: It was another Death Eater meeting, one of many Draco was forced to attend. But this one would give him something new to think on.


Written for **Muggle Studies** (Candor: Write a story with no dialogue), **Music Club** (Frog Choir: Butterfly by Weezer), **Disney Character** (Hades: Write about someone who is stuck), **Variety of Prompts** (Word: Dark Arts, Location: Malfoy Manor)

-oOo-  
>-oOo-<br>-oOo-

Years prior to this, Draco never would have thought twice about sitting among them. He'd been told for most of his life what an honor it would be to be invited at the table. He was told that his position was one that would bring about respect and admiration, not only for himself but to the tarnished Malfoy name as well. That he would help bring order back to the Wizarding world and help rid the pest that was lesser witches and wizards. He was told countless times that he should have pride in the Dark Mark that burnt his flesh nearly every moment of the day.

All of this, Draco now knew as nothing short of bullshit. All just propaganda and lies that he'd been too foolish and ignorant to actually believe in. He couldn't voice these opinions as he knew they would lead him to nothing but pain, excruciating and terrible pain. He'd had enough of his fair share of agony at their hands to know that he didn't want to experience anymore of it.

Besides, there was nowhere else for him to go. The moment the mark had touched his skin he had burnt any bridge that may have even considered helping in his escape. And he doubted anyone would offer to take his blood stained hands no matter how far he stretched and crawled.

There was no use struggling against the truth of his reality. He'd sold his soul to a demon in order to save his mother's life, and now he had to face the consequences of what he had done. Despite his determination to not break, he couldn't help but feel himself wither away under their gazes like a bug in a jar. Malfoy Manor, what used to be a place of escape, was now his prison, and home to the blood thirsty monsters that sat around him at the table. At the head of the table, Draco could barely make out the Dark Lord's movements from the corner of his vision. He'd learned last time he sat here not to look the man in the eye. The scars that marred his arms was a reminder of his place in this hierarchy.

As the Dark Lord droned on about what Draco imagined could only be more bloodshed, he found himself slipping into other thoughts: glad once more of the Occlumency training that was keeping the Dark Lord from breaching his mind. There was only so much he could listen to before the monotonous rants of the madman left him wanting to leave, lock himself in his room, and never come back down. The next time he had to see the Dark Lord would be oh too soon, in his opinion. But keeping his face blank, eyes trained on the perfectly white table cloth that stretched before him – but really, white? – Draco allowed his thoughts to drift away from the plans that were being made around him.

He didn't want to go back out there ever again. The other occupants of the table were eager to get back into the fighting, all more than ready to coat themselves in the enemy's blood, but Draco was not. Around him, he could see his Aunt's rapid hand movements, the woman most likely claiming future kills for herself. Greyback was smirking maliciously, his teeth sharp and bared, making a comment about finding them young and untainted – he didn't hear what the werewolf was talking about, but Draco was pretty sure he knew. Professor Snape looked almost bored and Pettigrew looked both excited and scared at the other side of the table, his squinty eyes rapidly darting about between faces. Stretched out between the two ends, Death Eaters all looked keen to head out into the world and kill for the man they served. Even Lucius and Mr. Nott – both freshly liberated from Azkaban – appeared ready to pick back up where they left off a year prior.

Aside from himself, his mother was the only other person he knew who was just as reluctant to follow the red eyed man at the head of the table. Narcissa kept her face stern and her thoughts focused, but Draco knew that his mother felt just as trapped and suffocating as he did. She held his hand under the table, squeezing it every so often as if to reassure herself that he was still alive beside her.

With each moment of pressure, Draco couldn't help but to cringe a bit. His hands were responsible for murder and he didn't want her to be a part of that. He didn't want his corruption to poison her as well.

No matter how many times he scrubbed his hands, no matter how many cleaning charms he used to rip off the blood and dirt, he knew that they were still stained from the destruction he had caused. He could still see the blood, could still feel it dripping from his hands, and smell the sharp odor even days later. There was no removing it. No way to forget what he had done. The blood of the old woman he'd been forced to torture and kill still marred his pallid flesh. The sight of his old Headmaster falling from the tower still plagued his dreams. There was no riding the sins from his soul, but that didn't mean that he was going to wilfully offer himself up to add more atrocities under his name.

But Draco was unfortunately aware of the fact that rather he wanted it to be or not, he would one day be just as blood stained as those seated around him. One didn't become a Death Eater without also becoming blood soaked, a thought that scared Draco more so than he wished to admit.

The Dark Lord said something to him in that moment, and Draco responded automatically, satisfying the man who turned his attention elsewhere. The conversation moved onto gaining more recruits, and Draco found his focus snapping onto the man. The man spoke quickly, addressing the Death Eaters with children who had either just graduated or would be doing so soon. Names were listed off, names of people that Draco knew. Names of people he loved like family. Most of his class would be turning seventeen just as he was within the next few days, and the Dark Lord seemed eager to bring them under his control.

The fact that this was their future was something he and the others had discussed plenty of times before. He knew of Theo's desire to not join, just as almost everyone in Slytherin knew of Blaise's request to stay neutral with the rest of his family. Millicent never gave her opinion. Pansy, despite her prejudice and purist views, was not eager to be branded and on the front lines, while the Greengrass sisters wanted nothing to do with the war in general. And then there was Crabbe and Goyle, who were all too ready to join the ranks and get their hands dirty.

It seemed just yesterday to Draco that they were all just kids, laughing on the train and not giving a thought to the world. And now they were all being shepherded into a war that would wither and kill most of them before it was over. The days of chasing butterflies in the back yard and sharing jelly beans in the train compartment were long behind them. What lay ahead was grim at best, and nothing but a life expected to be spent torturing and killing.

It wasn't a life Draco wanted, it wasn't a life most of his friends wanted either. But that was that. As the Dark Lord declared that the rest of his school mates would be joining come graduation, and called the meeting to an end, making a move for most of them to leave, there was no arguing against it. The days of freedom were numbered for everyone Draco knew.

He had never had a choice in the matter. He'd been signed into the ranks of a Death Eater the moment of his birth, raised in a house that thrived in the dark arts and taught every pureblood lie that his father could think of. He was stuck in this life. Stuck like a butterfly in a jar, and left to suffocate unnoticed. There was no hope left for him. He was branded, marked and stained.

But the others weren't and he'd be damned if he sat back and allowed them to suffer alongside him.

As Lucius grabbed his son's arm, effortlessly pulling him from the chair and leading him from the room, Narcissa right behind, Draco gave one quick glance back at the man still at the head of the table. Voldemort was talking quietly to Bellatrix, Snape and a few higher ups that Draco didn't really know, and didn't notice the grey eyes which fought not to glare at the dark wizard.

As he was lead from the room, Draco couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. He may not be able to save himself, but he knew he could save the people he cared about and he would do so. He would not allow them to suffocate in that jar with him.

-oOo-  
>-oOo-<br>-oOo-

Well, that's that I guess. I don't really know what to think after finishing this. I started with a thought, set the song on repeat (probably hitting into the 30th time of hearing it today) and just went with what came. That's usually how these song based one-shots come about. But this was possibly the most difficult song I've worked with. Every time I listened I got a different thought, and different meaning to the song. Of course, every thought involved Draco and the Death Eaters in some form or another as it always is.

But here it is. I hoped you enjoyed it in some way.


End file.
